


Isolated Signs

by Mistress_Whimsy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Guilt, Humor, M/M, Psychological dreams, Romance - Winchester style, Sibling Incest, Smut, possessive!Sam, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_Whimsy/pseuds/Mistress_Whimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was aware enough this time to wonder why his subconscious kept creating isolated situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isolated Signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karmascars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/gifts).



> Wincest for Karma. :D. This was WAY too much fun to write.

_A dream is an answer to a question we haven't learned how to ask yet._

~Fox Mulder, The X-Files~

\- - - - - - -

It was the rain that woke Sam, the rapid pitter-patter of it drilling against the car window. The glass was cool against his cheek, his breath painting a pale shade of fog against the swirling background of water. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and sat up with a quiet, dissatisfied groan. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Dean said with a quick flash of a grin. Sam cast a mild glare his way, and in doing so noticed that his brother was not holding the steering wheel. They were stopped.

“Something up?” He asked.

Dean shook his head. He leaned back against the leather seat, one arm stretched out along the back so that his fingertips nearly touched Sam's shoulder. There was something low and dark in his eyes, almost predatory, and Sam thought it should be far more intimidating than it was. Instead it was just oddly comfortable, a look he'd seen on his older brother more than once. _Protect Sammy_ , it said, and despite his insistence that he didn't need protection it still always managed to make the younger hunter feel at home.

Except... there was something different about this look. A slow burn kind of fire that seemed to be focused solely on him, and suddenly Sam was sitting up a little straighter as he wondered if a prank was eminent. He'd thought they'd learned their lesson last year, but Dean always was slow on the uptake.

“So why are we stopped?” Sam asked, keeping his voice smooth and casual. 

Dean smiled. Something was off, Sam thought, his suspicion growing because that was Dean's bedroom smile. Not the one he flung out there for a random chick he wouldn't object to taking to the nearest bathroom stall for some action. No, this was on the one he reserved for the girls he thought were really worth it, the ones he wouldn't just take to bed, but to the best time of their life. 

“It's raining pretty hard,” Dean mentioned coolly. “Got kinda tough to see.”

Sam glanced out the window. Bad weather rarely stopped Dean, unless there was truly a danger of damaging his baby, and the rain wasn't coming down nearly hard enough to impede his vision. 

The fingertips so close to his shoulder suddenly made contact. Sam looked down at them, watched with confusion as they danced up to his neck to brush the bare skin there. “Dean? What are you doing?”

 

Dean grinned. “Nothin',” he said innocently. He curled his hand around the back of Sam's neck, and the bolt of heat that shivered through Sam was decidedly unexpected. Dean's hand was warm, rough and strong, and when it pulled him forward Sam didn't think twice about allowing his brother to move him. 

Or at least, not until Dean's lips made contact with his. 

The younger hunter locked up, his eyes wide as his brother's soft mouth worked his own open so very gently. The thick smell of leather and gun oil, of something low and spicy that was purely _Dean_ , invaded Sam's nostrils and filled him with his brother. Before he could think it through, he was answering the kiss with his tongue --

Sam jolted awake, cracking his head against the window as he jumped and bolted into an upright position. The sun was shining through the windshield, and Dean was strolling out of a diner bearing several Styrofoam containers and a huge grin that meant he had pie. Entirely on automatic, Sam opened the door and took the containers numbly.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked as he climbed into the driver's seat. “Weird dream?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Good dream?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam muttered, but he was too distracted to throw back a smile of his own.

“Bitch,” Dean answered easily.

A potential haunting had taken the brothers to Billings, Montana, and one of the benefits of the hunts that took them to larger cities was better motels. Well, better by Winchester standards; when you spent your life hopping from one no-name town to the next, from bad motels to worse, a Super 8 was nothing short of paradise. Sam loved them because he was at least 95% sure they were clean, and Dean loved them for the free snacks they so often left out in their lounges.

Speaking of snacks... Sam rolled his eyes when Dean came back after declaring he was going to check out the pool, pockets laden with cookies.

“Shut up,” Dean said with a grin as he unloaded his hoard onto the table. 

“You have pie, you know,” Sam pointed out. “Do you really need that much sugar?” He almost snorted at himself; asking that of Dean was like asking a vampire if it _really_ needed to drink blood.

Both containers held bacon cheeseburgers and fries. Sam sighed, but was too distracted by the remaining image of his dream to complain about the food. Had he hit his head on anything recently? No... maybe he'd eaten something bad? 

Sam shook his head as he lifted the burger, eying it warily. It probably wouldn't kill him to have one everyone once in a while, he assured himself as he took a bite.

“Uh... Sammy? You okay?” Dean's own burger was frozen half way to his mouth, his eyes locked on Sam's face, wide with surprise and confusion. 

The burger wasn't bad. In fact, it was pretty damn good, Sam noted with pleasant surprise. “I'm fine, Dean,” he replied almost automatically, so used to reassuring his brother that the words were instinctual. 

Dean eyed him doubtfully, but finally shrugged and took an enormous bite of his own burger. Sam couldn't help a chuckle when the older hunter let out a dirty moan at the taste. It seemed like Dean should be sick of them by now; but then again, once Dean decided he liked something, he tended to latch on for life. 

“So. Haunting,” Dean mentioned after a moment, and Sam rolled his eyes. That was his cue to pull out his laptop and get with the research, already.

The building in question had once been an office supply store, and the story behind it was almost cliché. One of the guys who'd been there nearly twenty years was fired for being caught in the janitor's closet with – oh, another guy, okay, that made it a little different, at least. The first guy had lost it and tried to blow the place up with a poorly constructed bomb. Only two people had died; the employee himself, and the man he'd been caught with. Now, there were rumors and stories flying around that if you went inside the building at 5:03 p.m, you'd see the second man trying to stop the first from setting off the bomb. It didn't seem too serious, but the brothers knew what could happen to spirits if they were trapped for too long, and it was better to take care of it now then wait for the proverbial explosion. 

“This happened like ten years ago,” Sam said as Dean tossed his empty Styrofoam container into the garbage. “I think they're stuck in a loop. Salt and burn should do the trick.”

“Nice.” Dean opened his pie, and with a gleeful grin he scooped up a huge bite and shoved it into his mouth. “Go' name'th?” he asked thickly.

“Gross, Dean,” Sam muttered, brows scrunching together in a frown of disgust. He didn't need to _see_ the mess of sticky golden apple and pale crust as it was chewed up. He scribbled down the names, and then waded up a piece of paper and hurled it at Dean's forehead. “Yeah, I got them, and they're buried in the cemetery we passed on the way here.”

“Easy job, then.” Dean flicked his fork at Sam in retaliation, and a gooey piece of apple flew through the air to stick to Sam's nose, much to the older hunter's amusement.

“ _Dean.”_ Sam wiped the pie bit off and sucked it from his finger, glancing around for something else to throw at his aggravating sibling. When he glanced up Dean was watching him, eyes narrow and focused, and Sam sighed in defeat and gave up his search. Nothing was getting by Dean while he was looking at him like _that._

\- - - - - - -

They should have learned by now, Sam thought angrily, that there was no such thing as an easy job. 

The first half an hour or so went fine, and they'd been just about to crack open the coffin of Carl Rhodes when he appeared behind the gravestone. Or at least, Sam thought it was him at first, but then he'd realized it was actually Ken Summers, the guy who'd set off the bomb in the first place. The guy let out the kind of scream that only a ghost could pull off, and proceeded to try and rip the brothers apart. 

“How the hell did he get here!?” Dean yelped as he swung an iron poker. The ghost vanished with a furious hiss, and in the short amount of time they had the brothers set about ripping open the coffin.

“We're about to burn his lover, or whatever,” Sam panted as they broke through and finally leaped out of the grave. Dean dumped salt over it while Sam frantically shook out the gasoline, eyes darting everywhere in case the spirit popped up again. “Guess it was powerful enough to pull him away.”

Dean was about to strike the match when Summers appeared again, but at the same moment so did Rhodes. Sam grabbed his own poker, preparing to swing, but then Rhodes turned to face them, his hand flapping frantically towards the grave.

“ _Hurry!”_ he yelled, and then he threw himself at Summers.

Sam froze for a moment, stunned, but Dean was already striking the match. Whirling around, Sam caught his brother around the wrist and blew it out, bending to grab the shovels in the same motion.

“What the hell, Sammy?” The barked sentence became a yelp on Sam's nickname as the younger hunter hauled Dean across the cemetery.

“Let's burn the one that isn't apparently trying to help us first,” Sam said, and he was pleased with how steady his voice was. 

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but one glance towards the struggling ghosts had him running along behind his brother. 

Sam's muscles burned in protest as he dug, working them too quickly, and he could see Dean's face set in a grimace of pain as he did the same. Sweat poured down from Dean's forehead, dripping into his eyes, sliding beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Once, briefly, Sam's eyes caught on a bead as it raced down his big brother's throat, but an inhuman scream from one of the spirits had him working double time. 

Summers was starting to overpower Rhodes. Dean flung aside his shovel and yanked the salt from his pocket, dumping it frantically across the corpse before throwing himself out of the grave. He reached down, and Sam instinctively grabbed a hold of his hand. 

“Shit, matches!” Dean growled as he hauled Sam up out of the grave. “Did you get 'em?”

No, but he had an extra packet. Sam yanked it from his back pocket and struck a match just as Summers broke free of Rhodes' grasp. Dean threw himself protectively in front of Sam, but they'd dropped the pokers and his body could do nothing against a spirit. The sight of all that mindless fury hurtling straight for his brother had Sam hurling the burning match into the grave, and he let out a breath of relief when Summers went up in smoke seconds later. 

Dean twisted his head over his shoulder, freckled features drawn into an expression of annoyance. “Took you long enough.”

Sam laughed and punched his brother on the shoulder. “Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The two wandered more slowly back to Rhodes' grave, and he was waiting for them when they arrived. He looked down at his skeleton with a kind of fascinated wince, and when the brothers stopped he lifted his head. 

“Thanks,” he said with a quick, sad smile. “Been stuck like that for years.”

Something clicked in Sam's mind. “It wasn't a bomb, it was a spell. Summers locked you guys in a permanent loop.”

Rhodes nodded. “I don't think that was his intention, but yeah.” He shrugged. “I'll forgive him just as soon as I kick his stupid, drama queen ass.” 

The ghost gestured toward his own grave. “Think you could light me up? I'm really, _really_ ready to get out of here.”

Sam hesitated. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, especially after he'd helped them, but Dean took the matches from his limp fingers and struck one without preamble. Rhodes gave Dean another small smile and a nod, and Dean dropped the match. 

\- - - - - - 

They were headed out of town before Sam finally asked, “How do you do it?”

Dean, busy muttering and fiddling with the radio dial in an attempt to find a classic rock station, cast a distracted, “Do what?” at his brother.

“You just lit him up, no hesitation or anything.” Tiredly, Sam leaned his head back against the seat, letting it fall to the side so he was watching his older brother. It was dark, but some silent agreement saw them heading out of town instead of back to the motel. It made it difficult to see Dean's face, but he could just make out the blank look in his eyes when Dean glanced his way. “He helped us, and you still just...”

Dean shrugged. “He would have ended up like the other guy, sooner or later. I was just doing him a favor.”

It sounded nonchalant, but Sam had known his brother too well, too long. The slightest shifting of his fingers around the wheel – the tick at the corner of one eye, the way he never actually looked directly at Sam as he said it – all were signs that he was at least a little uncomfortable with what he'd done, but was refusing to allow himself to think about it. 

And _that_ , Sam thought as his eyes drifted closed, was why Dean was the real hunter here. At least he could shove the thoughts from his mind, and focus on something else. 

\- - - - - - 

It was snowing when Sam opened his eyes, and some distant part of his brain niggled at him that this wasn't right. He sat up, his breath fogging the glass as he watched the massive flakes drift to the ground. There was a good eight inches built up around the still Impala, and when Sam turned he found Dean leaning back in his seat, green eyes half lidded and lazy as they stared out the windshield.

“Hey, Sammy.” Without turning his head, Dean lifted a hand and stroked it through Sam's hair. The younger brother locked up for a moment in surprise, and he wondered how he'd gone from being pressed up against the opposite door to being no more than an inch away from Dean's body.

“Dean.” It was a question, an acknowledgment, and neither. Sam eyed the arm that was outstretched behind him, but he couldn't deny when Dean dug his fingers gently into his scalp that it felt good. Words of protest or question tried to bubble over his lips, but Dean dropped his hand down and began to massage his neck, and Sam couldn't help the little moan that escaped him as the action sent pleasant tingles rushing through his body. 

“Feels good,” Sam mumbled, and he let himself lean against the solid warmth of his brother. The flakes were starting to stick to the windshield, encasing them in a little pocket of white, but Sam didn't feel at all worried about it. 

“C'mere,” Dean said suddenly. He patted the space between his legs, and somehow there was plenty of room for both of them, with distance to spare between Sam's body and the steering wheel. That part of his brain began to yell at him again, but then Dean was rubbing his shoulders, fingers digging firmly into tense muscles, and Sam stopped caring.

The snow had completely buried the car now, and Sam knew he should feel suffocated instead of safe. He sighed contentedly as Dean guided him gently back against his chest, and then those hands were sliding slowly across his collarbone, tracing the jut of it briefly before he began to massage Sam's pecs through his shirt. 

“Dean!” Sam yelped, starting to sit up. What the hell was he doing?!

“Shh,” Dean soothed, pushing firmly until Sam was resting against him again. “It's okay, little brother. Relax. Feels good, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, but Dean...” Sam bit back another groan when Dean began to massage his chest again, fingers digging in with just the right amount of pressure. His head fell back against his older brother's shoulder, mouth dropping open around panting breaths as those hands trailed lower. Wasn't this wrong? 

“Not here,” Dean answered his silent thought. His hands stilled, resting along the jutting curves of Sam's hipbones, framing his crotch in a manner that Sam couldn't look away from, no matter how many social conventions his mind hurled at him. “Out there, yeah.” He nodded over Sam's shoulder, out beyond the protective white barrier of snow. “But we don't really live out there, do we?”

Sam shook his head slowly. His brother's warm breath on his neck – the low, rough words – made him feel like he was slipping into a trance, easy and seductive and _close_... he didn't want the feeling to go. 

“No,” he agreed quietly, and he turned his head so Dean could dip down and seal their mouths together. 

“ _Sammy!_ ”

The younger hunter woke with a plastic spoon shoved up under his lip, and a laughing older brother bent over the Impala's wheel. 

\- - - - - - 

It had been two days since the last dream, and Sam couldn't get it out of his mind. Not when every time he slipped into his seat the scent of the leather reminded him, _oh_ so vividly, of every detail. He'd stare out the window as they drove, fighting the blush trying so hard to paint his face, and wonder what the hell was wrong with him. The first dream he could pass off as a fluke, but two of them? 

Maybe he was cursed. 

He made the terrible mistake of running it by Dean.

“Cursed?” Dean sat up straighter in the booth. They had stopped in a little, family owned cafe, and Dean was eating a hot slice of homemade cherry pie with way too much enjoyment for Sam's comfort. “Why? What's goin' on?”

The fact that Sam could cause Dean to actually forget his pie with just a few words made him feel a ridiculous sense of power. “It's nothing, really, just...weird dreams.”

Why had he thought this was a good idea?”

“What kind of weird dreams?” Dean frowned at him, actually reached across the table like he was going to take Sam's temperature or something. Sam batted his hand away.

“Just weird, like... I dunno. Weird!” Sam's face flamed red before he could stop it, and when Dean saw it he broke out in a grin so huge that Sam knew without a doubt he was going to regret this. 

“Okay Sammy, who're you dreaming about?” Dean asked teasingly. “Come on, you can tell me!” He reached across the table again, this time to shove playfully at Sam's shoulder. It made the younger hunter think of Dean massaging him in the dream, and his face cranked up the heat.

“No one, it's nothing, just... forget it.” Sam was practically begging by the end of that sentence, and Dean just chuckled in a manner that said he intended to harass Sam until he cracked later.

And he did. He prodded at Sam for the next five hundred miles, leaving off only just long enough for Sam to think he was safe before beginning again. By the time they reached Washington and the next possible job – werewolf this time, and barely in time for the full moon – Sam was ready to strangle his brother.

“Will you just drop it!” Sam yelled. He threw his bag down on the floor of their latest motel, and briefly wondered who the hell though it would be a good idea to paint the walls a burnt orange. _Orange._

“It's dude dreams, isn't it?” Dean crowed suddenly, the triumphant look on his face declaring that he was certain he'd gotten it right. “You're dreaming about making out with some guy, aren't you?”

The way Dean grinned said he was about to gain years worth of ammo, and Sam had a sinking feeling he was right. Because while he couldn't say exactly _who_ said guy was, at least this way he could confess _something_ , and hopefully find the source of the curse in the process. 

Because it had to be a curse. There was no way this was just... him. 

“Yeah, fine, you're right,” Sam mumbled, refusing to look at his brother as he sank onto his bed. “Shut up, okay? I'm cursed, I gotta be.”

“Who is it? Guy from college? TV star?” Dean was still grinning hugely, so Sam grabbed his pillow and threw it at Dean's face. 

“Seriously, Dean, something's wrong with me!” Sam shouted desperately, and something in his voice, or maybe his eyes, must have gotten through. The mirth in Dean's expression fell away, and instead of throwing the pillow back at him, he held ups his hands in a white flag motion. 

“Okay, okay, we'll figure it out. When did it start?”

“Right before we salted and burned those guys in Billings,” Sam answered immediately. 

Dean fell back onto his own bed, staring up thoughtfully at the ceiling. “We didn't have anything before that for a like a week. And no witches for what, couple of months? Who would have cursed you?”

“I don't know!” Sam buried his face in his hands, choking back a frustrated shout. “I don't know.”

The bed depressed beside him, and when Sam dropped his hands he was startled to find Dean sitting there, his gaze actually sympathetic. “Look, Sammy...” Dean started. He lifted a hand and put it on Sam's shoulder, then seemed to think better of it and dropped it again. “You know I won't care, right?”

“About what?” Sam frowned at him, wondering if this was some new trick. It would be so very Dean to lull him into a false sense of security before firing his newest bit of ammo. 

Dean shrugged. “If you, you know... like dudes. I won't care.” He grinned, and when he lifted his hand again he used it to punch Sam lightly on the arm. “I'll give you crap, sure, but it's fine.”

Sam just sat there blinking at the genuine grin on his big brother's face, stunned. That was the last thing he'd expected. He knew Dean wasn't homophobic, but he'd figured something like that would bother him at least a little, if only because it was Sam and he'd have to live with it all the time. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam murmured gratefully, and shit, he'd practically confirmed it.

Dean shrugged again. “Sure.” He pushed himself up from the bed, and then his grin turned evil. He threw himself at the door, and as he yanked it open he called back, “Does this mean I get to start buying you frilly dresses?”

“ _Dean!”_

\- - - - - - 

Dean brought back beer and a makeup kit. Sam used it to paint sparkly rainbows all over his brother's face while he was asleep.

\- - - - - - 

Dean saw the makeup before going outside, much to Sam's disappointment. He endured an hour of his brother scrubbing the gunk off his face while swearing he'd get revenge, but he said nothing about their... _discussion_ , and for that Sam was insanely grateful. 

Another week passed, blissfully dream free, and Sam started to think that maybe they really had been just some kind of weird fluke. 

The brothers put down a ghoul in Oregon, and when Dean announced that they were staying to kick back for a couple of days Sam didn't have a single complaint. They'd been going nearly non-stop since John's death, and the fact that his brother was _willingly_ stopping was a good sign in Sam's book.

It helped that the motel they'd chosen had a pool, and Dean had barely been out of it since they'd checked in. He'd pop into the room every so often, dripping wet, swimming shorts clinging to his skin, and Sam would pointedly _not notice_ the way the material molded to his brother's well-toned ass. He was very pointedly not noticing Dean's well-toned _everything_ , in fact, and it had nothing to do with the reasons he wasn't swimming himself. 

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean threw a towel at his little brother's head and pulled a beer out of the mini fridge. Sam quickly removed the damp material before it could saturate the book of werewolf lore he'd been reading for the last hour. “Get your head out of your book and come swim.”

The younger hunter threw the towel back at Dean, who caught it easily with one hand. “I'm fine, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I swear I will dump this beer on your head if you don't come do something fun.”

Sam made a face at the thought, and then couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. He flipped the book shut and pushed himself upright. Swimming was great exercise, and Dean was right, it wouldn't hurt him to do something fun for a while. “Okay okay, I'll meet you down there.”

Sam should have known it wasn't just about Dean trying to get him to loosen up. He never tried that hard.

The pool was broken up into three sections. The main section was for actual swimming, and it was long enough that Sam thought he could do some decent laps in it. The other two sections were a shallow pool for kids, and a warmer pool that was more for lounging than anything else. When Sam arrived there were two older women in the warm pool, and Dean and a guy around Sam's age were in the larger pool. 

“Sammy!” Dean swam up to the edge, and waited just long enough for Sam to set his towel down before he grabbed his little brother by the ankles and yanked him in. Sam flailed as he fell with a loud splash into the water, his gasp of surprise turning into choking exhales when he surfaced. His eyes streamed with shock and chlorine, and he splashed a wave of water into his brother's laughing face in retaliation. 

“Jerk!” Sam yelled as Dean dove under, avoiding Sam's attempt to dunk him.

When Dean popped up again he as at the other end of the pool, and he yelled “Bitch!” gleefully back at Sam. It made the younger brother smile, no matter how much he wanted to be pissed. It was the first time since Dad died that he'd seen Dean so relaxed, and if getting him there took Sam coughing on a (mostly) harmless lungful of water while his face flamed with embarrassment, that was okay.

The guy Sam had glanced at before swam up beside him. He had messy black hair that was currently plastered to his face, and cheerful brown eyes lit with a grin as he nodded at Sam. “Brothers?” he asked, tilting his head towards Dean.

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. “How could you tell?” he asked sarcastically, and shared a chuckle with the stranger. “I'm Sam.”

“Aaron,” the guy replied. “So you guys here for the same reason I am?”

Sam pulled his arms up along the edge of the pool and let his body just float. He sighed contentedly, glad he'd let Dean talk him into this. “What reason is that?”

“The rooms suck and there's no wifi,” Aaron grinned when Sam threw his head back and laughed.

“I'm just here because Dean threatened to pour beer on my head. Apparently, I don't have enough fun.” Sam kicked his legs lazily as he gestured towards his brother with a wet hand. He noted curiously that he hadn't come back from the far side of the pool. In fact, every time he glanced his way Dean was staring at them intently, and it made him wonder just what the hell his brother was up to now. 

“Fun is good,” Aaron agreed with a nod. “You know, there's some other ways we could have fun. If you're up for it.” 

There was suddenly a hand on his leg. Sam found himself launching forward through the water before he even thought to move, his eyes going wide at the bold move that would have absolutely had him interested if that hand had belonged to a girl. He'd always liked pushy women. 

A snort of laughter from the other side of the pool made everything fall into place, and Sam let out a quiet groan and slapped a wet hand over his eyes.

“Did my brother set this up?” he asked tightly.

“Um... yeah.” When Sam let his hand drop, Aaron was looking at him nervously. “He's messing with you, isn't he? Shit, man, I'm so sorry, I thought – “

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “It's okay, you didn't know.”

Aaron looked mortified now, his face flaming so hotly that Sam felt sorry for him. “Seriously, I'm flattered,” Sam assured him. “I just don't swing that way. _Hey_.” He grinned and pointed towards Dean, who suddenly had his back to them. “If you wanna sneak over there and grope my brother I won't stop you.”

Aaron laughed. He still looked embarrassed, but his smile was genuine. “Want me to? I'd say he totally deserves it. That was a horrible thing to do to you.”

Sam opened his mouth to say no, but at the last second he changed his mind and nodded. It was actually more horrible for Aaron than it was for him, and Sam thought the guy deserved to get something out of Dean's latest awful joke. “Yeah, okay.”

Aaron winked at him, and silently went under. Sam kept his eyes on his brother, who was just starting to turn around. He looked confused when he saw Sam in the middle of the pool by himself, and then his eyes suddenly went wide, so wide Sam thought they might fall right out of his head. He looked down, and then let out a decidedly unmanly squeak and exploded out of the water. 

Sam laughed so hard he nearly drowned.

\- - - - - - 

When Dean came back to the room later there was a hickey on his neck and lipstick on his cheek, and it made Sam burst into hysterics again. All in all, he'd say he won that round. 

“Shut up!” Dean barked. 

“You asked for it,” Sam replied, and he was pleased to note that his light tone betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil.

For the last hour he'd been lying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could be ( _theoretically!_ ) attracted to his brother, and yet not be attracted to men. He'd even tried thinking about what it might have been like if Aaron had kept touching him. It hadn't actually repulsed him, but it wasn't something he really wanted, either. Yet one thought, one fleeting flash to his last dream had Sam shuddering all over, hand unconsciously trailing to his sudden and very insistent erection. 

He'd spent the next five minutes thinking of every nasty thing he'd ever encountered in an effort to get rid of it before Dean came back.

There was no reason for this, Sam thought frustratedly. It shouldn't have been possible. Was it because... could it be it was just because he was _Dean_ , and that somehow blew away all the rules of logic? 

Sam almost laughed out loud at that. Dean would be the one to break all the rules.

“So what, guy wasn't your type?” Dean actually sounded irritated. He pulled out a beer and drank the entire thing in one go, and Sam sat up to watch him curiously as he grabbed another.

“You...” Sam's eyes blew wide. “You were actually trying to set me up!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Finally caught up to the clue bus, Sammy?”

Sam was stunned. He'd honestly thought it was a joke, a rather cruel joke, but a joke nonetheless. The fact that Dean had genuinely been trying to help him get some – which was such a _Dean_ thing to do, now that Sam thought about it – while working around what he now thought were Sam's preferences...

“Dean, I'm sorry,” Sam murmured. “I thought you were messing around.”

Dean set the second bottle of beer down with a clunk, and then pulled a third out and tossed it to Sam. The younger hunter caught it easily, cracking it open against the nightstand and taking a long, grateful gulp. 

He knew he should explain things, come up with some explanation that would let Dean know he didn't like guys, but then he'd have to explain the dream. So he took the safer road, and said simply, “Look, Dean, I appreciate it, but please don't do that again.” He smiled to soften the words, and when Dean rolled his eyes and grinned back he knew they were okay. 

\- - - - - - 

When Sam climbed into the passenger seat the next morning he tried his best to breathe shallowly. It didn't help. The scent of leather invaded his nostrils anyway, thick and familiar, and when Dean slid into his seat he remembered sitting back against his broad chest, those hands working sinful magic across his muscles. The incident last night had brought every detail back with vivid clarity, driving Sam to try anything to forget it. He even went so far as to risk sporting an inappropriate boner as he thought of women he'd found attractive over the last year. He avoided thinking of Jessica, because that inevitably led to darker memories, but everyone else was free game. 

Nothing worked. Not even a carefully woven fantasy of what might have happened between him and Sarah if they'd stayed in town just a day or so longer. 

Eventually, Sam gave up. He looked over at his brother and let the dream flood through his mind. It wasn't just how Dean had touched him, or how low his voice had been, or how secluded he'd felt. It was how _close_ he'd felt. Sam could admit that he had an intimacy with Dean that normal siblings didn't because of their lifestyle. Because Dean had been looking out for him his entire life, saved him on more than one occasion, patched him up, bled for him, risked his life for him...

Sam shuddered. His logical mind was beginning to put the pieces together, but that didn't mean it was okay. Or at least, that's what he told himself, even as he continued to stare at Dean until the older hunter began to look at him oddly, and then he rolled his head away to gaze unseeingly out the window. 

It was rather obvious when the dream began, this time. It wasn't exactly possible to drive under a lake. 

Dean parked the car and stared up through the windshield at a flurry of colorful fish as they went by, smiling faintly. Sam was aware enough this time to wonder why his subconscious kept creating isolated situations; the rain, the snow, and now so deep underwater that Sam couldn't see the surface. In fact, if it wasn't a dream it would have been totally dark.

Dean didn't say a word this time. He reached over and curled his fingers firmly around the back of Sam's neck, and Sam let his older brother pull him in. He was expecting a kiss, but instead Dean diverted to his throat. Plump lips and rough stubble dragged deliciously along his skin, and Sam shuddered as he let his head fall back. 

“Gonna let me love you, little brother?” Dean asked gruffly, and current surroundings aside Sam _knew_ he was dreaming then, because his Dean would never say something like that. At least not out loud. With actions, yes, but never words. 

It still made him dizzy, though, still made him moan and reach up to clutch at his brother's shoulders.

He woke to the sun shining through the window and Dean frozen over him, a greasy fry in one hand and a twisted, frowning expression on his face. Sam quietly panicked, because that look said quite plainly that Dean thought Sam had just lost his mind.

Oh, god, had he talked in his sleep? 

“You're _not_ about to drop that fry down my shirt, right?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, hoping desperately that he looked normal. 

Dean blinked, and then dropped the fry as though it had burned him. “What? No! Would I do that?”

“Gee, let me think,” Sam muttered, grinning when his brother did, but that nervous feeling kept gnawing at his gut, and something told him he'd been severely compromised.

\- - - - - - 

The little pranks stopped after that. In fact, Dean began to pull away from him completely. He kept up their banter, still jumped to Sam's defense without hesitance during a hunt, still brought him coffee and tried to force unhealthy foods down his throat, but he kept a distance between them that had never been there before. It made Sam feel sick inside, and the longer it went on the more certain he was that he must have said Dean's name in his sleep. 

Still, it could have been worse. So much worse. Had Sam been in Dean's shoes, he didn't think he'd react so well. In fact, Dean was the _last_ person he'd expect to react that well. It made him wonder if maybe there was something else going on, if maybe Dean didn't actually know, but that would involve bringing it up. There wasn't a chance in hell that was ever going to happen. 

Sam might advocate talking things through, but in the end the Winchester silence almost always won out. 

\- - - - - - 

The Impala was floating through space, and Sam wondered what psychological explanation could be applied to the fact that his subconscious had actually taken him _off the earth_ this time. 

“Do you think we can drive across Orion's belt?” Dean asked, and when he turned to look at Sam he was grinning.

“We can do anything,” Sam answered quietly, and the words sent a strange thrill through him.

Dean's grin turned soft. This time he wrapped his hand around Sam's arm and tugged, and the younger brother let himself be hauled across Dean's lap. He straddled Dean's legs, using his hands to balance himself, and he was painfully aware of the fact that if he let himself settle and slide up, just a bit, he would be grinding their hips together.

“I don't need to ride Orion's belt,” Dean rumbled, his voice low and amused. He nudged along Sam's jawline with his nose, and Sam smiled helplessly at the affectionate gesture. _That_ , he thought, was something his Dean would do. Actions always spoke louder than words for the emotionally stunted. “I can just ride you.”

Sam rolled his eyes at the cheesy line, and then realized his own subconscious had come up with it. He started to laugh at himself, only the sound became a low groan when Dean bit down, just beneath his jaw. Broad hands ran up and down his back, firm and soothing, while Dean laved his tongue across the abused patch of skin. The younger hunter arched into Dean's hands, his mouth, fingers scrabbling at Dean's jacket because damn it, he wanted _more._

He woke gasping, his body shaking and sweat streaking down his forehead. There was something warm and hard beneath his cheek, and when Sam lifted his head he was startled to find Dean, out cold and leaning against the driver's side window. They'd stopped in a rest stop for the night, but Dean had very deliberately climbed into the back seat to sleep. When had he...?

Straightening, Sam ran a hand through his sweaty hair, eyes wide and confused. Dean didn't budge, his steady breaths puffing white and moist against the window, but his brow suddenly furrowed in an unhappy frown, and one hand slid out in search of – 

Sam cut that thought off at the head, because thoughts like that would mean traveling somewhere he wasn't quite ready to go, just yet. 

“Sammy?” Dean cracked one eye open, just barely. He was still mostly asleep, and normally Sam would take this opportunity to mess with him, only he was still shaking too hard to even think of it. “Y'okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured. “I'm fine, Dean. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmph.” Dean closed his eye again, but his hand reached out and snagged in Sam's shirt. He tugged, and Sam realized with shock that Dean was trying to get him back against his side. “C'mere.”

Any will to say no abandoned Sam, and he let himself be tucked in against Dean's solid warmth. “What am I, your teddy bear?” Sam muttered, a token protest.

Dean chuckled tiredly, and his arm wrapped securely around Sam's shoulders. “Mmhmm.”

Sam wanted to panic. He wanted to get away, tell Dean to knock it off, let him go.

Instead, he fell asleep with his face tucked into his brother's throat, breathing in the scent of leather and gun oil and _Dean_.

\- - - - - - 

“I'm not the one who climbed in the front seat and used me as a stuffed animal,” Sam muttered defensively, twelve hours later.

Dean, hands clenched tight on the wheel and eyes locked on the road, growled, “I thought I said to drop it.”

“I will if you will!” Sam yelled, jaw clenching as he turned towards his brother. “Dean, it's been ages since we woke up, and you haven't relaxed since!”

“How am I supposed to relax when I – “ Dean's eyes widened briefly, and then he slammed his mouth shut and refused to speak again, the bolt of his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth.

I. Sam was reeling, thoughts trying desperately to coalesce in his mind because Dean said _I._ He wasn't angry at Sam, he was angry at himself.

They didn't have a case. They were driving aimlessly, heading for anything, only this road they'd chosen apparently led to a whole lot of _nothing_. They'd stopped in a tiny, tiny little town for gas fifty miles ago, and they hadn't seen another one since. It was nearly dark, and Sam knew that unless they came across a motel within the next few hours they'd be sleeping in the Impala again. 

The very thought made him shudder, and for all the wrong reasons.

Another hour passed in silence. Dean didn't even have the radio on, and that alone was a horrible sign. When Dean actually opted for silence willingly, it meant something was beyond wrong. Disastrous. Catastrophic, even. 

And now Sam couldn't figure out if he was the source, or if it was Dean himself.

\- - - - - - 

Sam really did hate it when they had to sleep in the car, especially when it was for more than one night, and even worse when they were on such tense terms. There was barely enough room for him in the seat, and Dean rarely slept at all, choosing to stay up most of the night watching everything around them for any signs of danger. As kids, Sam had always slept with his head in Dean's lap, but eventually John had decided they were too old for that and had started separating them. Back then, Sam thought sourly, he'd been able to sleep well.

With a frustrated grunt, Sam heaved himself over into the front seat. Dean hardly even twitched. Deep green, wary eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, then back out of the windshield before finally turning to rest on Sam.

“Can't sleep?” Dean asked, voice low and rough from being awake for too long.

Sam shook his head. He sat maybe an inch from the older hunter, ignoring the miles of bare leather stretched out to his right. He didn't like sleeping in it, but Sam really did love the car, even if Dean thought he felt otherwise. He loved the rich smell of the leather and the way that scent clung to Dean, the roar of the engine when his brother gunned it. He even loved the way the doors creaked when they were opened. Everything about the Impala was so very _Dean,_ and everything about Dean was home. 

Darkness, Sam thought abruptly as he gazed out the window, was another kind of isolation, and when Dean's fingers curled around the back of his neck he wasn't surprised at all.

Dean twisted around, pressing Sam back into the seat, his eyes sharp and predatory before Sam lost sight of them. Their mouths slotted together, Dean's tongue sliding inside like it belonged there, and Sam was starting to think maybe it did. His brother's free hand slid down Sam's chest, rubbing slow circles through his shirt and down over his hip. Sam shivered, moaning into Dean's mouth, hips arching up for more. His brother pulled back, just enough to speak, and even that caused their lips to brush together.

“'S okay, Sammy,” Dean murmured roughly, and his hand slid over to cup Sam's dick through his jeans. 

The phone rang. Sam sat bolt upright, his pillow sliding right off the bed with his sudden movement. He experienced a moment of complete disorientation before he remembered they'd found a motel last night, a tiny, dingy thing at the outskirts of somewhere. Dean, who was lying face down and fully dressed across his bed, reached blindly for the cell phone he'd tossed onto the nightstand. 

Sam didn't wait to hear who it was. He didn't even wait to hear Dean say hello. He just leaped out of bed before his brother could lift his head and ran for the bathroom.

Once safely inside, with the door locked for good measure, Sam leaned back against it and told himself to breathe. Just breathe, in and out, in and out...

“Nope,” Sam gasped, and a hand reached for his fly. 

At the last second Sam jerked away. What was he thinking? That he could pretend it had been some girl he'd been dreaming about? That the smell of leather hadn't begun to turn him on every time he slid into the Impala? That the thought of Dean taking him into his hand, or his mouth...

“Oh _god!_ ” Sam lunged forward, his hand striking the counter. He'd taken his shirt off last night, which left only the jeans and boxers to tear off before he threw himself into the shower. He knew he should turn it to cold, as cold as it could go, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Steam filled the room, shrouding Sam in a little bubble away from reality as his hand slid down to grasp the base of his cock. He bit his lip, trying desperately not to say Dean's name because somehow that would just make it real. Too real.

As if the images in his mind weren't real enough. He was back in the Impala, and Dean had undone his fly and bent down to suckle the head of Sam's cock. Sam's knees nearly buckled at the punch of arousal from that image, and he bit down all the harder, almost breaking the skin as he held back a moan at the pleasure of his first stroke. Three more and he was done, other hand slamming into the wall as he held back a sob, his orgasm crashing through every cell in his body with embarrassing speed.

Leaning against his arm, Sam let the water beat down against his back as his body shuddered through the aftermath. He wasn't anything approaching old, but he hadn't come that fast since he was a teenager. 

Another flash of memory struck, and it forced a chuckle from him. Though John had insisted they use separate beds since Sam turned eleven, for some time afterward he would still crawl into Dean's bed in the middle of the night, and his brother would always tuck him in close, even if he was dead to the world. Which was why, when Sam was nearly thirteen, Dean had woken up one morning with a boner pressed into his hip. He'd gently explained to Sam, who had been experiencing such things for a while but had been too embarrassed to ask what to do, how to take care of it. He'd never let Sam sleep in the same bed again.

Sam jerked upright so fast he slipped and slammed his knee into the wall. The pain barely registered. Eyes wide and fixed unseeing on the old tiles, he thought back to those years and he realized that the first, the second – hell, every time it had happened – Dean had either been nearby, or touching him. 

_Oh, god._

The sound of a fist pounding against the door snapped Sam out of it, and his eyes whipped frantically towards it before remembering it was locked.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. “We got vampires!”

Vampires. Right. Something he could focus on. Sam climbed out of the shower and quickly toweled off. “I'm coming!”

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Dean yelled back, his voice teasing, and Sam glowered at the door as he pulled on his jeans.

The older hunter was sitting at the end of one bed when Sam finally opened the door, his foot tapping impatiently and his bag already slung over his shoulder. “One of Dad's old contacts called,” Dean explained as Sam grabbed his own bag. “Says there's a nest about two miles out of town.”

No one else would have seen it, but Sam caught the way Dean's eyes cut to the side as he mentioned their Dad, the way his voice just barely caught on the word itself. Even with his new found anger over what John had told him about Sam, he still missed him anyway. 

The sun was shining brightly when they found the nest, but considering the damn thing was in a cellar it did them almost no good. Still, they crept in quietly, using the fact that all the vampires were asleep to their advantage. A quick scan told them that the vampires weren't keeping any victims, so they set about trying to dispatch them as silently as possible. 

It worked until one of the females woke up and started screaming.

After that it was chaos. Sam lost sight of his brother as he swung his machete like a madman, decapitating or just maiming anything that came at him with fangs. He heard a sharp, rough cry from his brother, and when nothing followed it panic ripped through his chest, pumping adrenaline through his blood. 

“Dean!”

One of the vampires came at him, lunging for his throat. Sam swung out his arm, but didn't stop to watch as the vampire's head hit the ground. “ _Dean!_ ”

Another vampire fell, and Sam could finally see his brother. Three of the vampires had pinned down the hunter's writhing form. All of them had their fangs buried in Dean, one in his shoulder and one at each wrist. Dean was snarling like a wild animal, fighting their grip like he couldn't feel the pain of those fangs at all. His machete lay at his feet, and unable to think beyond the red curtain of rage that had settled over him Sam snatched it up in his free hand. He didn't aim for their throats, he just swung, slicing into anything within reach that wasn't his brother. The two at Dean's wrists fell back, screaming in pain, and when the one drinking from his shoulder looked up he lost his head. Dean let out a gasp of relief and held out his hand. Sam tossed the extra machete to him, and together they killed the final two. 

Then Dean fell back, his weapon clattering to the ground again as he panted with exertion. 

“Dean!” Sam dropped to his knees beside his brother, lifting his wrists carefully. The bites there were deep, still bleeding profusely, but he was relieved to see they hadn't punctured the radial artery. 

“S'okay, Sammy, they didn't get much,” Dean said roughly, though he didn't pull his hands from his brother's grasp. “Just gotta get the first aid kit, nothin' to worry about, okay?”

Sam hauled Dean upright, slinging one arm over his shoulders so the older hunter could lean into him as they made their way to the Impala. Sam's hands shook, and he hated that Dean had to reassure him that everything was okay when he was the one bleeding all over the place. He let Dean slide down to the ground when they reached the car, leaning him back against a tire before ripping open the trunk to grab the kit. The bite on Dean's shoulder wasn't bleeding nearly as badly, so Sam focused on the wrists first. He cleaned the punctures carefully with an antiseptic cloth, ignoring Dean's hiss at the sting, wrapping them quickly before they could began to bleed again.

“Could have been worse,” Dean commented easily as he watched his brother work. “You didn't really give them time to get much, and they didn't rip open a vein or anything.”

It was meant to assure him, but it just made Sam shudder. What if they _had_ ripped open a vein? What if they'd killed him? What the hell would he do without Dean? His hands shook all the harder, and before Sam could stop himself he was leaning down to press his lips against the skin just above the bandages on Dean's right wrist. He repeated the action on the left, and then just sat back, head down, reaching for another antiseptic wipe so that he didn't have to meet Dean's eyes.

“Damn it, Sammy.” Dean's voice was soft, and when Sam looked up, startled by the tone, he found green eyes full of a pain he couldn't even begin to describe.

“Dean?” Sam looked away quickly, tore Dean's shirt sleeve a little more so he could clean up the blood. He was glad nothing needed stitches, because his hands were far too shaky to attempt anything with a needle right now.

“Do you know why Dad told us to stop sharing a bed?” Dean asked suddenly. Sam risked a glance up and found Dean's gaze a thousand and one miles away, staring off across the field like he was trying to look through time.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, hoping his voice sounded as steady as he thought it did. The bite on Dean's shoulder wasn't as deep, so Sam just slapped an extra large band-aid over it. “We were too old to be sleeping together.”

Dean shook his head, and when Sam felt a hand on his thigh his entire body froze. “Nah. It's because he knew.”

Before Sam could ask just what the hell that meant Dean was standing and heading for the driver's seat. Sam wanted to protest, say he should drive because Dean had lost too much blood, but he knew Dean wouldn't have it. So he just got into his side and stared out the window, replaying his brother's words in his mind until he thought he'd gone crazy with them.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice the look on Dean's face as they returned to their motel room. He didn't see the pain transform into something heated, into a predatory need to claim, and he didn't see the hands that reached out for him as the door swung closed. 

“Sammy,” Dean called softly, his hand gripping tightly around Sam's wrist, and when Sam turned to face him Dean reached up his other hand, fitting his fingers around the back of Sam's neck just like he had in every dream, and pulled him down into a chaste kiss.

Sam's world stopped -- then Dean's tongue was swiping across his lips, pleading for entrance, and everything _exploded._ The scent of leather and gun oil and his brother invaded his nostrils and Sam threw all reason to any wind that would take it, but before he could really respond Dean was pulling back.

“I kept hoping you wouldn't figure it out,” Dean muttered, sounding half amused and half miserable, as though this were somehow his failure. “You didn't even seem to know what you were doing as a kid, and then later you had Jess, and I thought hey, maybe he'll be okay.”

“How long have you known?” Sam's voice was thin, nearly a whisper. 

Dean shrugged. “The boners were kind of a dead give away, after a while.” The older hunter flashed a grin when Sam sputtered in protest. “Oh come on, Sammy. I mean the first few yeah, okay, but every time I touched you? And then a few weeks ago you go and mutter my name in your sleep. I thought maybe if I kinda kept away from you, but...” Dean shrugged again, helplessly. 

Sam opened his mouth again, and ended up just hanging his head. “You must have been so disgusted.”

Dean snorted. When Sam looked up there was disgust in his eyes, all right, but it wasn't aimed at Sam. “Yeah. With myself. God, Sammy, the life we lived, I didn't even realize it was wrong at first. All I could think about was how awesome it was, 'cause when you were old enough I'd finally be able to...” Dean waved his hands between them, and suddenly Sam just wanted it out there. He wanted it done. He just _wanted_.

“To fuck me?” he completed softly, and Dean's eyes blew wide, his pupils dilating with lust. Sam felt any sense of guilt or wrongness fade in the presence of a weird sort of pride. _He_ did that to Dean. “You know our lives aren't normal, Dean,” he said earnestly, “and incest is taboo mostly for the genetic degeneration it causes in offspring. It's not like we can have kids, and it's not like we can really be with anyone else, so...” Sam took a step forward, bringing him no more than an inch from Dean and his gaze that was slowly settling into a more predatory expression. The more he spoke, the more he convinced himself, and he hoped it was convincing Dean too. “Why don't you just do it?”

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean growled, and then he had two handfuls of Sam's coat and was hauling him in again.

This time there was no guilt, none of the illness that had insisted on invading Sam's gut every time he thought of this, of his dreams, of Dean in this manner at all. There was just heat, and Dean's rough stubble scraping against Sam's smoother jaw. It was all hard and want and _need_ , and in seconds Sam had them both out of their coats and was yanking eagerly at Dean's stupid, stubborn black t-shirt that was insisting on getting caught around his armpits.

“Whoa, Sammy, hey.” Dean chuckled as he batted Sam's hands away and yanked the offending garment off himself. Shirtless, he flashed a grin at his little brother, the one that said he was hot and he knew it. For once, Sam was inclined to agree. “Bit of an eager beaver, huh?” his brother teased.

“Shut up,” Sam muttered, but he couldn't help the grin that inched across his face. He pulled off his own shirt, his breath hitching as he bared himself to Dean. He reached out to pull his brother back to him, but the older hunter pushed his hand away, his eyes wide and raking across Sam's form like it was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. 

“Dean?” he asked, and he shuddered when Dean reached out and flattened a hand against his chest. He could feel his heart racing wildly beneath Dean's palm, silently begging for more, _now_ , and Dean obliged by bringing his other hand into play. He cupped it over Sam's shoulder and drew it slowly down his arm, and Sam watched as the green of his gaze was slowly swallowed by black.

“How long?” Sam blurted. He hadn't meant to ask, but the pure _hunger_ in Dean's gaze ripped the question from him.

Though Dean didn't tear his gaze away from the exploration of his hands, he still answered roughly, “I think I was eight when it started.”

“Eight?” Sam yelped, scandalized. “You were thinking about... that... at--”

“No!” Now Dean did meet his gaze, and he looked so downright offended that Sam couldn't help but laugh, which earned him a light punch to the center of his chest. “Shut up. I was just too attached to you, even when you were pissing me off I just wanted to take care of you, and then when I got older it seemed so normal to think about doing that with you 'cause I l – 'cause I was so attached.”

The older hunter wasn't quick enough, and Sam caught the word he'd almost let slip, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to hear it. If they were going to do this, he wanted to hear it, just once, even if Dean would never say it again. Even if he already knew it, right down to his soul.

“You what?” Sam asked, his tone light and teasing because anything else would just scare Dean off. He stepped closer, reaching up to put his hands on Dean's shoulders, and _god_ , how had he never noticed how beautiful Dean was? It was strange thinking that, when he knew any other man could be standing here and he (probably) wouldn't look twice, but Dean was...well, he was _Dean._ Fit, rough, solid Dean, and his dark gaze spoke of home and the want that Sam could finally see so clearly. 

Leaning down, Sam ducked his head beneath Dean's chin and pressed a light kiss to the place were shoulder became neck. “Come on, Dean,” Sam purred, nosing oh-so-gently at Dean's throat. “You what?”

Dean let out a gasp when Sam bit lightly, teeth closing over his jugular, and Sam made a mental note to come back to that later. “You know what.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He bit down again, just a little harder, and grinned when he felt Dean begin to shake in his arms. “Say it anyway.”

Dean made a tiny sound of protest that became a deep groan when Sam sealed his lips over one side of his throat and sucked, hard. His hands moved from Sam's chest to his arms, gripping them tightly enough to bruise, but Sam didn't care. It just meant that he'd have proof that this happened later. 

“Do you want me to say it first?” Sam offered quietly. He nosed the skin he'd just abused, reveling in the gasp it drew from Dean, the arch of his throat as he let his head fall back. He licked a path up to Dean's ear, drawing the soft lobe into his mouth and suckling a moment before resting his lips against the shell. “I will. I'll say it first, if that's what you want.”

“Sammy...” Dean's fingers gripped more tightly, and he tilted his head to press their temples together. His shoulders were still quaking beneath Sam's hands, and Sam slipped his arms fully around his brother, holding him in a way that no one else was allowed to. 

“I love you, Dean,” Sam said softly. The words came easily because he'd never built the walls that Dean had, never felt the need to.

“Damn it!” Dean choked out. “Damn it, Sam, I love you too.”

The words shot through him like too much adrenaline, like the best hunt and the greatest sex and something else, something he couldn't put a word too because there were no words for Dean expressing something that deep. It rolled through him, piercing as far as it could go, making Sam ache. His dick, already been half hard, swelled to the point of pain and pressed through cotton against his zipper. When Dean's hips bucked forward on a low groan, Sam felt an answering hardness grind into his hip, and suddenly they weren't close enough, and wearing _far_ too many clothes.

“Sam.” Dean's voice was a growl as he pushed Sam out to arm's length. His gaze was narrowed and full of the predator again, and Sam shuddered shamelessly under that look. Dean's hands fell from his arms and practically ripped open the fly of Sam's jeans, and Sam gripped Dean's shoulders more tightly for balance when the older hunter tore them and his boxers down his legs. He sighed with relief when his cock was freed, and then let out an indignant squeak when Dean blew a gust of warm air across it.

The chuckle that poured from Dean's throat was warm and strangely happy. “Not yet,” Dean said as he ducked his head, focusing with a little too much attention on Sam's shoe laces. “Gotta...”

Work up the courage, Sam finished for him silently. He was fairly certain Dean had never touched a dick other than his own in his life, and he wasn't going to push, or do anything that would make him stop. 

Dean straightened once he'd successfully removed every last article of clothing, but he didn't take off his own. Instead he planted a hand in the center of Sam's chest and pushed, sending the taller brother toppling back onto the bed. “Stay,” Dean growled, and then he stomped over to his duffel and began to dig. 

“I'm not a dog, you know,” Sam commented as Dean began throwing items irritatedly over his shoulder. That earned him a dismissive wave, and Sam was too high on the moment to care, so he just laughed and scrambled up to the center of the bed, leaning up on his elbows to watch Dean.

“What are you looking for?” He asked after a moment, impatience getting the better of him.

“Lube,” Dean replied. He said the word quickly, his ears flaming red with embarrassment, but the single word punched Sam in the gut with arousal, and he knew his own eyes were almost as black as Dean's now.

“It's in the pocket, left side,” Sam told him with certainty, and wondered what it said about him that he knew that.

Dean let out a triumphant grunt as his fingers closed around the tube. He tossed it onto the bed before unceremoniously kicking off his shoes and reaching for his fly. Sam's fingers itched to do it for him, but he stayed where he was and watched as Dean was revealed to him, dropping his eyes fearlessly to Dean's cock. It wasn't quite as long as his own, but Dean was thicker, and Sam shifted as an ache began to grow deep inside, in a place he'd never expected to feel it. 

Dean's gaze was darting with nervous hunger between Sam's face and his cock, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know what to do next, even in this new situation. He picked up the lube and waved it towards Dean, letting loose a grin that was much calmer than he felt. “Wanna skip to the main event?”

The offer of a cop-out did the trick; Dean scowled and scrambled up onto the bed between Sam's spread legs. “We'll get there,” he growled. “But first I'm gonna suck your brain out through your dick.”

Sam's brain seemed more than happy to comply with that statement, as it promptly ceased to function. His world narrowed down to Dean's mouth as it bent towards his cock, which twitched and ached with growing anticipation. His hands clenched into fists in the blanket, his breath hissing through his teeth as Dean paused no more than an inch away, his eyes flicking up to meet Sam's with a lustful amusement. 

“Want somethin', Sammy?” 

“Dean!” Sam refused to admit to the whine in his voice, and he rolled his hips up in a motion that was half begging, half invitation. “Please?”

Dean's grin was fierce, and he gave Sam an obnoxious wink and lunged down, kissing the tip of Sam's cock before sliding his lips over the head. Sam didn't know what hit him harder, the heat and slickness of the tongue that rolled experimentally against his stiff flesh, or the fact that it was _Dean's_ lips wrapped around him, just like he'd seen them wrapped around a beer bottle so many times. Without his permission his hands flew from the blanket to Dean's head, trying in vain to get a good grip in the short strands as his hips bucked upwards. Dean let out a muffled sound and pulled back as his hands came up to pin down Sam's hips.

“Easy, little brother,” Dean said, voice low and warm, and Sam thought that should have been a wake up call. That should have made him sick with the realization of what they were doing, but instead it just made his toes curl and his mouth fall open around a desperate moan. His hips tried to buck, but Dean held them down firmly in a blatant display of his strength before sliding his mouth over Sam again. 

“Oh god, Dean, please!” Sam's hands abandoned Dean's hair and scrabbled instead at this shoulders, fingertips digging insistently into soft skin and hard, unrelenting muscle. Dean chuckled, actually _chuckled_ around his cock, and Sam let out a shout as the vibrations sent pleasure signals zinging everywhere, making his nails dig ruthlessly into his brother's skin. 

Dean pulled off again with an obscene pop, and Sam barely swallowed the sob trying desperately to claw its way from his throat. “Please what?”

The younger brother heaved himself up on his elbows, just enough so that he could glare down at the smirking hunter. “ _Dean.”_

“Nuh uh.” Dean blew a warm gust of air over Sam's cock, grinning at the shiver and little thrust of his hips the action earned. “You made me say... _that_... so now you gotta say this. Please what?”

Sam groaned and fell back against the pillows. He should have known Dean was going to get him for that later. “Please...” He flushed, turned his face into the pillow. It seemed ridiculous, but Sam never had been very good at talking in bed beyond senseless babbling, and flat out asking for what he wanted made him feel hot with embarrassment. 

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean brought up a hand and danced light fingers up Sam's sensitive inner thigh, brushing along the crease of his hip before dipping lower. Sam's whole body tightened when a knuckle only just pressed against his balls, too light and quick before it dipped lower to rub along his perineum. “What do you want?”

Sam's mouth fell open, breath panting harshly past his lips, legs falling open further in a silent plea for Dean's fingers to go just a little further, a little deeper. He'd been curious enough to try stimulating his prostate once, and he was suddenly dying to know how much better it would feel when it was Dean's thick, strong fingers pressing deep inside. Whatever he'd wanted before fell away from his mind, replaced by a new and much stronger need that finally had him gasping out the words.

“Inside,” Sam groaned. “I want you inside me.”

Dean was so close that Sam couldn't help but feel the way he shuddered. The hunter lunged up enough to grab the lube he'd flung down on the bed, and when Sam heard the snap of the cap being opened he pulled his legs up, trying in vain to suppress the hot flush spreading through his body at the feeling of being so exposed.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, reaching out to brush a fingertip across Sam's left thigh. The younger hunter thought the nickname should be especially annoying in this situation, and instead it was just the opposite. 

“How did you imagine this?” Sam blurted. He hadn't meant to ask, but suddenly he had to know how a teenaged Dean had pictured this moment. 

The hunter squirted a generous amount of clear fluid into his fingers, rubbing them together a moment to warm it. “Kinda like this,” Dean answered roughly. He kept his eyes on his own fingers, only briefly allowing them to flick up towards Sam's. “Used to picture what you'd look like, how you'd be spread out for me.” Slick fingertips reached down to rub gently over and around Sam's hole, and the hunter gasped at the jolt of shocked pleasure. It hadn't felt like that when he'd done it himself. “At first I didn't even think it was weird. Not even when I found out how much I like women, because you were different. You were special.” Dean slid a finger into Sam as he said the last, probably trying to distract him, and it nearly worked. Sam gasped, arching up to get more of that thick finger inside him, and decided to let Dean think he hadn't heard him. The more comfortable Dean was right now, the better.

“More,” Sam panted, canting his hips upwards. “Come on, Dean, I'm not gonna break!”

“Relax, Sammy.” Dean thrust the finger shallowly, and when his gaze flicked up to Sam's face there was a strange mix of sadness and determination in them. “I'm not gonna let this hurt.”

Sam stilled, his eyes widening briefly in outrage before he realized Dean was right. He was too tense, locked too tightly around the finger trying to loosen him up, and after everything, Azazel and children and powers... yeah, maybe Sam had wanted it to hurt a little. Sometimes the pain was grounding. 

“Dean – “ Sam started, but Dean shook his head, flashed a quick grin and dove down to take Sam back into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head, teasing Sam until the younger hunter was shaking and clawing at his hair, before sucking him down as far as he was able. Dean's free hand came up to wrap around what he couldn't take, and at the same time he sucked hard and crooked his finger slightly, pressing into Sam's prostate. The double stimulation had Sam bucking his hips helplessly against Dean's face, his hands finally abandoning his brother to rip at the sheets. Dean did it again, and again, and Sam threw back his head and screamed as his orgasm ripped from him, blinding flashes of pleasure searing his body as he emptied down Dean's throat. 

Dean pulled off slowly, his hand gently working Sam through the aftershocks, and Sam watched in a kind of daze as Dean swallowed. The sight sent a frisson of renewed lust through him, but his dick wasn't even remotely interested in waking back up just yet. 

Dean lifted his head, and the grin he gave Sam was so _cat that ate the canary_ that the younger brother couldn't help the laugh that shuddered out of him. 

“That was kind of gross,” Dean mentioned with a chuckle. He made a face and stuck his tongue out, and Sam laughed again. “Worth it for the look on your face, though.”

Sam could only imagine, and he decided later that he would do the same thing for Dean, just to see the look on _his_ face.

The finger... fingers, there were two now... inside him were still thrusting shallowly, but Sam's climax had left him loose and relaxed, and when Dean carefully slid in a third and began to thrust more deeply, it only burned a little. Sam let his legs fall open wider, a sigh escaping him when Dean brushed against his prostate again. 

“That's better,” Dean murmured suddenly, more to himself than Sammy. He pushed himself up so he was stretched over Sam, his fingers thrusting more insistently, skating Sam's prostate every few strokes until the younger hunter was gasping. His cock was beginning to twitch in an effort to rejoin the festivities, and when Dean leaned down and slicked the flat of his tongue from Sam's collarbone to his throat it started to fill again. 

“See, Sam.” Dean leaned up and bit Sam's earlobe, gently, and Sam twisted to bury his face in his brother's neck as the sensations began to overwhelm him. “Doesn't have to hurt.”

Sam wanted to argue, just for the sake of arguing if nothing else, but Dean was right, damn it. The older hunter had him feeling so good that Sam couldn't remember why he'd thought pain had been such a great idea.

“Dean!” Sam sank his teeth into the meat of Dean's shoulder, thrilling in the shout it earned him as he soothed his tongue over the angry mark. “Dean, now.”

He thought Dean would argue, but apparently he was loose enough because Dean carefully slid his fingers out, and Sam's body clenched down on the emptiness that followed. “Just sec,” Dean muttered, lunging off the bed and diving for the duffel again. He pulled a condom from a pocket and tore it open with his teeth, and Sam watched hungrily as Dean rolled it onto his cock. A part of him wanted to argue that the condom wasn't necessary, but the more rational part reminded him that it was safer. 

Dean knelt on the bed between Sam's legs, snapping the lube open to pour another generous amount into his palm. He hissed as he spread it across himself, his mouth falling open and his eyes shut, hips stuttering forward into his own hand. Sam moaned softly at the sight, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to smooth his hand over Dean's chest. He rubbed at one of Dean's nipples, rolling the bud around beneath the pad of his thumb, and grinned widely when Dean sighed with pleasure.

“Come on,” Sam urged, pulling his legs up even higher, tugging at Dean's arm insistently. When Dean finally settled over him Sam let out a sigh of relief. He brought his knees so they were flush against Dean's hips, holding him in, and he didn't miss the way Dean grinned. The older hunter lined up against Sam's hole, head sliding slickly against him, and then Dean was sinking inside, thick heat filling Sam slowly. It burned, but Sam hardly noticed because _Dean was inside him,_ hot and close and so full Sam felt like he would burst. A deep moan rumbled from Sam's chest when his brother's hips pressed in against his ass, and when he looked up Dean's eyes were half lidded, pupils blown with lust. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” he groaned. He held himself over his little brother with shaking arms, and Sam knew it was lust and not a lack of strength making them weak. “You're so _tight.”_

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, and when the older hunter showed no signs of moving Sam bucked his hips, trying to get the unyielding hardness of Dean's cock even further inside himself. His brother let out a shout that ended in a gasp when he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that had Sam writhing, head thrashing against the pillow when Dean found just the right angle. 

The younger brother's cock had fully hardened once more, and when Dean let his arms give out it was crushed between their bellies. Dean rolled his hips frantically, grinding against Sam's prostate, stomach muscles rubbing along Sam's dick with not-quite-enough friction, only Sam didn't even care. He was filled with _Dean –_ Dean surrounding him, overheated and slick with sweat; Dean pounding hard and hot inside him; Dean rearing up on his elbows, eyes demon-black and staring down at Sam's face with an awe that drove him absolutely nuts. In a moment Sam flipped them, keeping his legs locked around Dean so that he didn't slip out, and with his hands planted on Dean's shoulders he began to ride in earnest. His older brother looked surprised by the move, but he let out a breathless laugh and gripped Sam by the hips, encouraging him to go faster.

Something was building in Sam's chest, a need forming a word at the edge of his mind. His face twisted into a snarl, his legs gripping as tightly as his movement would allow. The hands on Dean's shoulders moved over his chest and arms, fingers briefly dipping in to feel where they were joined. Dean let out a choked sound and tried to sit up, and without thinking Sam wrapped a hand around Dean's throat and pinned him there. He held him down firmly, without cutting off his air flow. When his brother relaxed, accepting it with a small smile, Sam froze and stared down at him, the word tumbling in a growl from his lips.

“ _Mine_.”

“Yeah.” Dean's eyes flashed, narrow with the predatory stare that had made so many appearances in Sam's dreams. He knocked Sam's hand away abruptly, surging into a sitting position. One hand reached behind him to grip the headboard, while the other wrapped around Sam's waist. “And you're mine,” he said lowly, staring unblinking into Sam's wide eyes. 

And then he began to pound into Sam relentlessly. The sharp slap of skin on skin filled the room, and all Sam could do was throw his arms around Dean's shoulders and hold on for the ride. Dean reached between them, hand curling around Sam's cock and jerking, awkward and frantic, and Sam felt the curling warmth that signaled the approach of his second orgasm. 

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean growled. “Come for me.”

A part of Sam wanted Dean to come first, but then Dean changed his angle just enough to hit Sam's spot again, and a press of Dean's thumb under the head of his cock sent him over the edge. The sweet pressure that had been building in his gut exploded, and his head fell back on a cry as he spilled sticky warmth across Dean's hand. 

Dean continued to thrust into Sam, even as the younger hunter went boneless. They sank back on the bed, and Sam watched his brother through eyes half lidded and glazed with pleasant aftershocks. Dean was so close, Sam could see it in the way his hips had lost their rhythm completely, in the wild way he stared down at Sam. Lazily, feeling as though every ounce of energy had been wrung out through his dick, Sam lifted a hand and cupped Dean's cheek, mustering up a fond, sleepy smile for his brother. 

It did the trick. Dean let out a shout, hips jerking in sharp, sporadic thrusts as he came. Sam watched Dean fall apart, watched him shake and gasp, his eyes wide and still locked on Sam's face, before he finally collapsed, pinning Sam to the mattress with his bulkier weight. Sam didn't mind. He looped an arm loosely around Dean's back and sighed contentedly, thinking he could fall asleep like this, with Dean still inside him.

Sam was a more than half way to doing just that when Dean shifted, gently pulling out before falling to the side. A quiet snap told Sam that Dean had removed the condom, and he told himself firmly not to care if Dean threw it on the floor. They'd deal with it later.

A deep ache began to settle inside him, but it just made him grin as he rolled to the side and into Dean's waiting arms. Cliched as it was, Sam couldn't help but ask sleepily, “So, was it everything you imagined?”

Dean chuckled, the sound muffled as he buried his face in Sam's sweaty, thoroughly sex-mussed hair. “Better,” he answered in what Sam suspected was meant to be an over-dramatic manner, except that his own voice was as thick with sleep as Sam's. 

It had been years since Sam fell asleep with Dean's arms around him, and all he could think as he drifted off was that it felt as though he'd finally gone home.

\- - - - - - 

**~10 hours later~**

“Dean.”

The older hunter pulled the car door open, but paused to cast his little brother a glance. “Yeah?”

Sam ran a hand over the Impala, smoothing his palm along the warmth of the black metal. A slow grin was forming on his face, and when he met his brother's gaze he saw that grin reflected back at him. 

“There's something you should know,” Sam said, schooling his features into something somber. He slid into his seat, waiting until Dean was behind the wheel and slamming the door closed before he spoke again. “You remember those dreams I told you I was having?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Why?” His grin was starting to slip, and Sam nearly punched the air in triumph.

“They were about you,” Sam said, and somehow he managed to keep his voice serious. “And we were always in the car. So you see, I've hit the point where every time we climb in here, the scent of the leather turns me on.”

Sam saw it the moment Dean understood, and they matched each other's slow smiles. “So what you're saying,” Dean said as he started the car, “is that when you start molesting me in the Impala, you just can't help yourself, right?”

“Exactly,” Sam replied cheerfully.

He waited until Dean was on the road, singing along to an AC/DC song that for once didn't totally annoy him, before he decided to test Dean's ability to drive under pressure.

They made it maybe a quarter of a mile before Dean had to pull over.

END


End file.
